


Pawns: Rise Up

by ominousCataclysm



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-01 12:07:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8623942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ominousCataclysm/pseuds/ominousCataclysm
Summary: The story of a rebellion, started by a single pawn.





	1. The Spark

**Author's Note:**

> My second fanfic for Homestuck. Working on next few chapters.
> 
> -ominousCataclysm

A cold, biting wind, rushes across the desolate and checkered landscape as you survey the expanse of black-and-white tiles before you in quiet contemplation. Before you lies a platoon of black pawns, each one armed with swords or pikes. Scanning over them, you count exactly sixty-four of them in total. Your troops easily outnumber them, and this particular battle should be a break from the intense and hard-fought battles of the past week or so. Satisfied with you findings, you report back to your commander to give him the new info. 

Your commander smiles at the good news, one of the first you have had in a long time. He tells you and your platoon to ready your weapons, as we would be attacking the white forces at noon. Excited, all of you immediately rush to put on your armour, equip your trusty weapons, and assemble in our platoon formation. 

As usual, you are one of the first to be ready in position, and you gaze back at the rest of your fellow pawns as they prepare themselves for battle. Your platoon is a close-knit one, and you know the name of every single pawn it, even though there were more than a hundred of them. This is partly because of your commander. On the first day of meeting your new platoon, about a month ago, everyone felt awkward and slightly out of place as they met so many new people. However, your commander was welcoming, light-hearted and managed to make everyone feel as part of a family. Even the pawns shyer than the others were soon at ease. After the platoon was formed, he still provided a listening ear whenever any of you faced problems, and never judged you. You suddenly feel extremely grateful to your commander for doing all this.

The sound of the rest of the platoon assembling shakes you out of your trance. It was time to put all those thoughts away and concentrate on the task at hand: war. All of you march in the direction of the enemy camp, ready to fight.

On the way, you spot a small house about a hundred metres to your right. It has an interesting design, looking almost like a can toppled over. Crops are growing outside the house. Judging from the red flag on top of the house, the area belongs to a villein, who must be working with the Derse forces. Pointing this out to your commander, he sends out a few troops to set fire to the crops. Once a blazing fire erupts from the crops, your commander seems satisfied. Your platoon continues to march.

Soon, you see the hill marking the Derse camp. Your platoon charges up the black-and-white hill, commander in the lead. The black pawns stare up at you, shocked at the sudden attack. This should be easy. A few seconds later, you clash swords with your first enemy. You are evenly matched, and soon, a fierce struggle begins between both of you. When you strike, he parries. When he lunges, you dodge. Your sword crashes into his, as you continue the furious duel. After a while, you notice him getting worn out, his strikes coming slower, and his dodges become almost lazy. With a little effort, you quickly disarm him. He knows that his end is near, and the desperation on his face shows it. However, you feel no pity. You stab him in the chest. You watch as the light leaves his eyes. For a second, you feel a twinge of guilt, but you quickly push it away. This is war. There's no room for guilt.

Looking around you, you see that your allies are also winning their individual battles. Occasionally, some white pawns even are double-teaming against more experienced black pawns. This isn't a battle anymore. It's a massacre. And just as your platoon whittles down the enemy numbers to less than half, one of the Derse pawns sends a flare up into the sky. Barely more than a few seconds later, you see something appear on the horizon. No, you see a lot of somethings coming. Squinting, you, finally make out what they are. They're Derse battleships. This is not good.


	2. The Dark Kingdom's Defector

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! I'm so sorry that this took longer to write. I spent quite a while thinking how this chapter should go. Nonetheless, it's finished now, and I hope you like it. As always, please leave a kudos if you've enjoyed, and comment if you want me to improve anything.
> 
> -ominousCataclysm

The Derse ships slowly approach and descend, cannons firing indiscriminately into your platoon’s ranks. Explosions sound all around you, blinding firecrackers of light and heat. Over the sound of the bombing, you vaguely hear your commander call for you to fall back. As the remnants of your platoon retreat, you count only seventy left. How did so many soldiers die from a simple bombing? You squint through the haze of smoke from the explosions, trying to find some kind of clue. Finally, you see it. 

The cannon bombardment had more than one purpose. Not only did it intimidate and damage us, the smoke from it masked the deployment of several smaller Derse vessels, which you could now see. Ropes dangle from the ships. You then notice a much larger number of black pawns on the field, and even a few horses and rooks! Your platoon is now hopelessly outmatched. This would be a massacre, but you would be the one on the receiving end. You see your commander talking into a small communications device. He appears to be contacting Prospit for reinforcements. But why? It would be easier to retreat and wait until the Derse forces overextend themselves, and bring in ships from nearby battalions to annihilate them.

After thinking about it, you finally realise why your commander wants to prolong this fight. If you win this battle, the loss of five airships will severely cripple the Derse army, allowing the Prospit forces to steamroll through them. However, if we retreat, some of the ships may do so as well, and you might not get another chance at this. As you look behind you, you see about four Prospitian ships headed your way. Reading the numbers on the side, you know that these ships are from battalion 313 and 315, the ones closest to your platoon. A cheer goes up in your platoon, a feeling of hope that you might stand a chance after all.

The Derse forces had been steadily approaching while you watched the skies, and they now were only about a hundred metres away. Unanimously, your platoon charges, suddenly eager to enter the fray yet again. Prospitian troop carriers begin to deploy troops all around you. Suddenly, a rook slams a club into you knocking you a few feet back and rendering you breathless for a few seconds. He looms over you, ready to strike again. Two of your friends, number 567 and 623, see your plight and come to help you out. 567 knocks you to the side just as the rook pulverises the ground you were standing on with his club, while 623 stabs the rook. It seems more surprised than wounded, but luckily for you, the rook didn’t have any Derse archers standing on his battlements, so he was severely constrained in terms of range and speed. Your allies flank him, and weaving in and out of his strikes, you and your friends slowly wear him down until the rook falls to the ground with a crash. You have time to rest, as once the rook falls, three pawns engage you and your friends. This time, you decide to get a little creative. You fake to the left, and bodyslam him with your right shoulder, knocking him to the ground. You kick his sword away and prepare to impale him. This time, you definitely feel guilty as you looked at his pained face. All the fight went out of him, and he slumped on the ground, eyes closed, like he had accepted his fate. No space for guilt in war. Murmuring a quiet ‘sorry’, you finish the job. 

Finally, you get to take a breath. You decide to look at your surroundings. Up in the sky, the battleships are directing their fire on each other. Explosions can be seen on the ships of both sides. Occasionally, a few cannons misfire and hit the ground, creating a burst of fire and smoke, and further adding to the atmosphere of an all-out war. Suddenly, a Prospitian ship explodes after taking to much damage, and the flaming remains land on the warring armies, killing about fifty Dersite and Prospitian soldiers. Derse horses, with their many limbs, stomp the ground, creating a small shockwave, and stunning nearby Prospitians, making it easier for the Derse army to kill them. Your commander is one of those victims. On the ground, he is disoriented and stunned. A Derse pawn walks up to him and stabs him. Just like that, he dies. You are filled with shock, anger and grief. 

What a waste of life. Standing in the middle of a battle, you finally realise the pointlessness of this war. Thousands of soldiers fighting each other daily, and for what? You don’t understand. On the cliff, a figure appears. A Dersite. He’s wearing a violet outfit, showing that he’s a villein working for Derse. A tattered red flag is gripped tightly in his hand. He stands on the cliff, staring into the battle. A you stare at him, your friends look as well. He has caught the attention of some other pawns as well, both Dersite and Prospitian. A ripple of confusion travels through the armies. What happened? Slowly, everyone turns to him. Previously weakened enemies are spared. The cannons of the ships cease fire. Everyone’s attention is on the violet-clad villein. And he begins to talk. He doesn’t talk loudly, but in the sudden silence, his words echo through the land. As he talks, pawns drop their weapons. A few help up their enemies from the ground. And slowly but surely, every single soldier on the battlefield joins the new faction.


	3. Chapter 3

A few days have passed since the new rebel faction was created. Personally, you feel it was a blur. The new guy (his official name is 962, but he prefers to be called the WV), got everyone organised into groups or teams, and sent them away with different objectives. Sometimes, you tried to persuade others to join our cause, other times, you went looking for villeins sympathetic to your cause to provide the new army with resources. You have been enlisted to one of the two large groups of troops, with no clear objective given yet. You’ve been taking the time to either help out the other groups, or think about this whole war.   
Why were you even fighting this war? You were defending Skaia from the Derse army. But why does the Derse army want to destroy Skaia? Every time you look up, you take a second to admire the beauty of the land. The seemingly endless expanse of black and white tiles which make up most of the ground. The brilliant blue sky, with white, fluffy clouds drifting lazily across.The occasional forests or lakes dotted across the landscape. This would be paradise without all the fighting. Why would anyone want to destroy it? You wondered about this for a long time.

Suddenly, a horn sounded in the distance. It was the signal for all unassigned troops to report to your new leader. Once everyone was assembled, the dark kingdom’s defector began to talk. These two groups would be leading the attack on the Black King. There is a sense of trepidation in the air as WV explains the details. The Black King is famed to have a great many powers and abilities, granted to him from his sceptre, and would have no hesitation in using them to wreck havoc on his enemies. But you were almost excited at fighting the Black King. The Black King, you decided, was the cause of the whole war between the two kingdoms. Just because of his attack on Skaia, Prospit had to defend it, so Derse sent more troops, and so on. The Derse forces probably don’t want to destroy Skaia, but are forced to by their superiors, who are in turn commanded by the Black King. 

Never have you wanted to kill somebody this much in your whole life.

Before long, the two huge groups of troops are marching towards the Black King. In your ranks, there are pawns, rooks, and horses of both Derse and Prospit origin. Yes, the King may be strong, but your numbers give you confidence. Maybe you could win this after all.On the way to the King, some scouts started reporting back about the King. According to them, the King has two Bishops guarding him. He himself is hundreds of times taller than any pawn, and will definitely cause a lot of damage with his many tentacles. With the new information, WV, splits your group into two, to attack the Bishops.

In the distance, you see the castle of the Black King, almost in ruins now, after being subjected to the rapid evolution of the King. Instead of the glorious castle it once was, it is now a crumbling structure, with half broken pillars and piles of debris randomly scattered around the area.

As you walk into the decrepit ruins of the castle, you could feel a shiver pass through the group. The whole area had an ominous feel to it, with its many ravaged towers and the endless shadows created as a result of the evening light. As you pass through one final set of gigantic doors, you finally see him. The King towers over you, sceptre in hand. Vast tentacles protrude from his horse, slowly curling and uncurling, as if in preparation to strike. He wore the tattered clothes of a jester, but this does not make him seem less scary. If anything, he seems more intimidating, almost mocking you, with his perverted parody of the jester’s attire. The two huge Bishops beside him seem tiny in comparison.

You vaguely hear WV calling out to the King, something about ‘justice’, and ‘ending his tyrannical rule’, but honestly, you’re not listening. Nobody is. Everyone is staring in shock at the sheer power and size of the Black King. You suddenly feel like an ant which he could crush with a foot. And just as WV finishes talking, his eyes dart to something in the sky. This isn’t like him, losing focus so easily. Out of curiosity, you look as well. 

Something is approaching. Something… or someone. The winged Dersite leisurely flies towards all of you. Something odd is sticking out of his chest. As he gets closer, you realise it’s a sword. You hear muttering all around you. With a wound that serious, he would certainly be dead. But what was he wearing? You could have sworn it was the clothes of a… Jester. Suddenly, he accelerates. He speeds towards the King, removing his sword from his chest easily. Then you realise his target isn’t the King. It’s the sceptre. In one swift motion, he cleaves the sceptre in half.

The King shrinks down to the size of a pawn. The two parts of the sceptre do the same. All the tentacles retract back into the King. Huh, you think, so all we had to do was cut the sceptre in two? He’s not so intimidating anymore. The Dersite lands on the ground, a determined look on his face. Just as easily as before, his dashes to the King and cuts of his head.

A collective gasp goes through the crowd. Everybody seems unsure whether to run or to celebrate. Turns out, the first option was correct. The Dersite clenches his fist and raises it in the air, seemingly out of triumph. However, the true meaning of the gesture is revealed when red energy shoots out of his enclosed fist. Everyone recognises this as the Red Miles, the Queen’s strongest attack. But surely… this couldn't be the Black Queen, could it? The miles arc down towards the troops, seemingly with a mind of it’s own. Some try to run, but they’re quickly impaled. You can’t escape the miles. Others try to dodge, but the miles simply change course and strike again. 

As you watch the carnage around you, rooted to the spot, you are suddenly aware of a dull pain in your abdomen. Looking down and seeing the beam go straight through somehow makes it worse. As you fall to the ground, feeling your life slipping away from you, your gaze drifts to the sky. Watching the calm tranquility above… it somehow calms you down. You suddenly feel very tired. After all, what better place is there to take a nap than here? You lie down, content. You feel nothing in your abdomen. As your breaths slow, you watch the clouds drift by until your eyes slowly close. _What a beautiful sky._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, this is finally over. As always, leave a kudos if you've enjoyed, and a comment if you want me to improve. (Constructive criticism only pls.) Thanks for reading!
> 
> -ominousCataclysm

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! If you liked it, leave a kudos for more fanfics.


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